


Waiting for the Sun

by red_lasbelin



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21964975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_lasbelin/pseuds/red_lasbelin
Summary: Gildor and Glorfindel find a better way to pass the dark winter hours.
Relationships: Glorfindel/Gildor Inglorion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26
Collections: Tolkien Secret Santa 2019





	Waiting for the Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zhie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this, Zhie! It was a pleasure writing for you.

Winters in Imladris were usually reasonable. Not as bad as some winters in Gondolin, and certainly not as bad as the Ice. They had Elrond’s ring to thank for easing the worst of it, Glorfindel knew, but this year the season was unusually cold and harsh, and even Elrond had limits to what he could do without putting himself in danger. But their food stores were holding, and there was enough to do during the brief sunlight hours. The long nights on the other hand had a way of lingering. Glorfindel had already worked through a pile of candles and several stacks of books, but books were solitary company, and so he started spending more time in the Hall of Fire.

The large gathering hall was filled with fellow elves tired of their own company and held the added attraction of being well lit and warm. There was something for everyone here. To the east side of the hall, musicians played and collaborated with each other, debuting new work and gauging the reaction of their audiences. Round the fire there was an informal circle for storytelling where everyone took turns recounting legends or personal accounts or tales of their own imagination. Glorfindel had shared a story of Haradrim pirates that he’d read recently, choosing to forgo the expected anecdotes of his previous life. That was a story already told in song and legend, and he was not ready to add to it.

And then there were those who gathered at the tables stretched along the west side, to play dice and card games, or sit with a cup of wine or something stronger and watch the flames. Glorfindel wasn’t too bad at cards or dice, and it was an interesting diversion. But mostly, he drank with Gildor, who with his company was sheltering from the hard winter here at the Last Homely House.

Tonight, Gildor was holding court at the dice table and on a winning streak judging by the looks of the elves round him. Glorfindel snagged a cup from one of the trays on the table, poured himself a drink from the flask he had brought and drew closer to the table, listening to the sound of dice clink against the polished wood.

“All fours, would you look at that?” Glorfindel recognized that pleased tone to his voice; Gildor was the uncrowned king of self-satisfaction.

“Yes, yes, we see that. Who did you sell half your soul to get that kind of luck?” Brassen asked. Glorfindel recognized him from the builder’s guild. His pile of money might have been decent at the beginning of the night, but it wasn’t now.

“I would never sell half my soul,” Gildor said. “That’s bad negotiating. One sixth, maybe.”

Glorfindel laughed, and the sound must have caught Gildor’s attention. His look had a weight to it, assessing, seeking – Glorfindel hadn’t gotten used to it yet - and he raised his flask in answer.

“There you are.” Glorfindel wasn’t sure if that was addressed to him or the flask. Gildor swept his winnings into his purse and then tied it off to his belt. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Hells no. Don’t get paid for another three cycles.”

Gildor grinned. “I will see you then.”

The crowd started to drift off after that because Lindir, something of a minor celebrity, had arrived. Glorfindel took a seat at the table and watched as one of the women rested a hand on Gildor’s shoulder, leaned in and whispered something in his ear. Gildor’s smile was easy and bright in response, but when she was done, he gave a small shake of his head. “Won’t be leaving any time soon, there’s too much drinking to be done.”

His response left her unperturbed, Glorfindel noted. Gildor had copious charm coupled with the reputation of someone impossible to pin down for very long. She squeezed his shoulder and said, “Perhaps another time.” She gave Glorfindel a flick of her lashes. “You boys enjoy those drinks.”

They both watched her go, cutting through the crowd to join the ring around Lindir, who had begun to set up his instruments for the impromptu show.

“You and Delieth?” Glorfindel raised an eyebrow in question before taking a sip of his drink. Gildor reached over, opened the flask, then smelled it.

“Ah, is this a special occasion I’ve forgotten?” He poured himself a glass, the dwarf brandy sparkling in the abundance of candlelight. “And yes, Delieth. We’ve gone round a couple of times.”

Glorfindel pulled out a pack of cards and started shuffling them. “It’s wintertime, name someone you haven’t gone around with a few times.”

“Elrond’s family.” Gildor tipped the glass back for a generous swallow of brandy. “You?”

“If you messed with any one of Elrond’s brood, he’d kill you slowly and thoroughly in the way only a healer can.” Glorfindel dealt the cards, the sound of them neatly hitting the table and each other a steady rhythm. He’d found the ritual of this engaging and settling all at once – it was a good way to chase away some of the dark night hours.

“I am many things, but rarely a fool. Don’t distract me, you’ve not answered my question.” Gildor drummed his fingers against the edge of the table and watched Glorfindel’s hands as he dealt the cards.

“Erestor?”

Gildor tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh, turned it into a cough. “Damn brandy.”

“Don’t even go there.” Glorfindel glared at him. When he picked up his hand, his fortunes were no better. He avoided obviously grimacing, but he did take the flask back.

“I tried to warn you - he only has eyes for the fairer sex.” Gildor didn’t seem particularly concerned.

“He just didn’t strike me as the type.” Glorfindel’s voice faltered. The memory of the rejection still stung a bit. Erestor was not unkind about it, but the sheer certainty of his refusal…he’d not often read a situation so wrong.

“What was it you said? Something about ‘no one with a backside like that could be only interested in women’.”

“That is not what I said!” Glorfindel reached over to cover Gildor’s cup with his free hand. “Lower your voice, for Manwe’s sake. The whole room doesn’t need to hear that - I was drunk at the time. I will cut you off.”

“You’re not the only person I know who has dwarf brandy.” Gildor peeled Glorfindel’s fingers off the cup, but he did lower his voice appropriately. “Will your pride ever recover?” he asked, his tone tinged with mock sympathy.

“Not yet. If you don’t hush, I’ll leave you with Delieth. I’m sure you will have a nice night.” He put his cards face down on the table and rested his hands palm flat besides them, prepared to push up off the table and leave.

“Oh hush, I was only teasing.” Gildor wasn’t one for apologizing, but he came close. His head tilted slightly to the side and Glorfindel felt himself being considered with the skill of someone very good at reading people. Gildor’s face flickered with an emotion too briefly for Glorfindel to figure out, there and then gone. “Settle down. Let’s play?”

Slightly mollified, Glorfindel returned to his hand of cards. He sighed, had another drink, and promptly lost the first round.

\----------------

His luck didn’t improve all that much, but then the dwarf brandy and the warmth radiating from the big fireplace went a long way to ease the day’s tension from his shoulders and help him relax. He felt some sympathy for Gildor’s previous table partners; Gildor’s luck was very good tonight. Gildor knew it too, his eyes had a way of sparkling dangerously when he was on a winning streak. When had he started paying attention to things like how Gildor’s eyes looked? He also noticed how Gildor smiled at him sometimes, but then Gildor smiled at everyone.

“Do you plan on leaving me with any money?” Glorfindel dropped his cards on the table, they spilled over across the wood surface, their upright faces telling a story of a ten coin loss.

“Have not decided if I am going to take the shirt off your back,” Gildor drawled. “But you have a good salary. You will replenish this…” he looked down at the pile of coins he had stacked on his side of the table, “…eventually.”

Glorfindel reached across the table to push up Gildor’s sleeve and touch the inside of his forearm. He meant it in jest, of course, the mood of the room was light – well, the groups that were not gathered around Lindir’s highly dramatic musical piece anyway. As soon as he touched Gildor, he was reminded of one of Erestor’s cats; they often recoiled at the first touch, ready to strike. Gildor tensed under his hand, and through the brandy Glorfindel realized belatedly Gildor could have gone for the knife he kept in his boot. But then, also like a cat, he relaxed and let Glorfindel touch him, those blue smoky eyes following his every move.

“No cards up my sleeve, if that is what you were checking for.”

Was Gildor laughing at him? Gambling with him was interesting – Gildor had an uncanny ability to leave him off balance.

“No fifth knight up there?” Gildor’s skin was smooth and warm under his hand, the corded muscle of his forearm evident. Glorfindel ran his fingertips along the length of it up to the crook of his elbow. The skin there was pale and softer. “No, I suppose not.”

“My special card hiding tunic is green, and I did not feel like the color tonight.” Gildor’s tone was very dry, but his mouth was tilted up slightly at the corners.

Glorfindel caught himself from complimenting Gildor on his shirt – it was quite nice, burnt umber and made Gildor look like he stepped out of the fire in the center of the hall – and he knew Gildor caught the hesitation and without a doubt was laughing at him now, if he was not before. “Yes, yes, you are very clever,” he muttered, and drew back his hand.

“I have my moments.” Gildor pulled his sleeve back down, eyes never having left Glorfindel, who decided he was like a cat yes, but not one of those small ones Erestor liked, one of the big panthers from the south in wintertime, caged up, bored and thusly dangerous.

Glorfindel started to gather up the cards, shuffle and deal for another round, but Gildor shook his head.

“I have taken enough of your money tonight, I think? I’m sure you agree.” He picked up the flask Glorfindel brought with him. “And this needs a refill.”

“My bottle is back in my rooms. Are you going to drink all my brandy as well?”

Gildor smiled, not one of the half smiles he so often produced, but a generous one, full lipped. “I was not thinking about all of it, but since you offered, why not? Do you have duty tomorrow?”

“No, I finished my double rotation, now I get one day off.” 

“Oh good, then you have nowhere to be in the morning. Best for nights like these.”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow then pushed back from the table and stood. “Nights like these?”

“Yes - long, dark with plenty of time for troublemaking.”

\----------------

The people out in the hallways did not spare them a second glance on their way to Glorfindel’s suite of rooms. Glorfindel did not know what he expected, but then they had reached the point of wintertime when few people were happy with the cold dark. Spring and the return of the sun seemed a long way away. Those awake and out of bed at this hour had strong reason to be, and thus were not too interested in a couple of half sober elves, even if they were usually persons of interest.

As Glorfindel turned the doorknob, Gildor who was only a few steps behind him commented, “I don’t think I have ever been to your rooms.”

Glorfindel realized it was true after a moment’s consideration. “I don’t invite too many people back to them,” he said matter of factly, then opened the door the rest of the way and gestured Gildor inside with a small nod of his head.

“I noticed.” Gildor brushed past him on the way into the first room, which was midsized and nicely outfitted with bookshelves, several large, cushioned chairs and a desk along the wall by the window. Two interior lanterns burned, giving off just enough light to see by. Glorfindel was a fan of paintings and tapestry work, and several bought from local artists hung on display around the room. When he first arrived in Imladris, it had taken him a long time to settle into the rooms and find pieces of furniture and other things to make them feel like his own space, but it finally felt like home.

“I was not expecting company, or I would have straightened up,” he said. The air had a bite to it, so he went over to the fireplace, where only a few embers remained from the fire lit earlier that evening, and began the process of coaxing them back to life.

The mess of papers on his desk, the books littered around the room and the half-finished art project he had going in one of the corners did not seem to bother Gildor, who wandered around, fingers lingering briefly on book spines, the edge of papers. His curiosity was evident, and normally Glorfindel would bristle at the invasion of his space, but he found the attention oddly flattering. Gildor was usually so blasé about everything and everyone.

“You paint?” The canvas on the tabletop easel held the beginnings of the autumn view outside Glorfindel’s window, which overlooked the eastern part of the valley. It was rough and Glorfindel was unsure of some of his color choices; he tried not to twitch at the thought of someone else seeing it, judging it.

“I did in my first life. I am sorely out of practice now. The light changed and it’s not been conducive with my work schedule.” Glorfindel shrugged, then laid a piece of firewood over the coals. The light from the fireplace would be welcome once it burned brighter. “Another thing on hold until the spring.”

“It won’t be winter forever,” Gildor offered. “Thank the gods, by spring I am ready to get back on the road.”

“Because you are ready to go or because Elrond is ready to kick you out? A mystery for the Ages…” Glorfindel leaned back on his hands, comfortable on the thick rug in front of the fireplace, and looked up to where Gildor stood. The dwarf brandy warm in his veins made him feel dangerous.

“You think you are clever, don’t you?” Gildor asked, voice tinged with bemusement. He turned away from the canvas to focus on Glorfindel.

“Sometimes? Not always. I did die for want of a hair tie.” Glorfindel found after his return that humor was the best way of dealing with things. He figured Gildor would take the bait and tease him, but he was surprised when Gildor did not.

“That was… unfortunate.” This was all Gildor offered, quietly serious, as he came to stand before Glorfindel. The firelight lit his auburn hair and played with it, echoing flame.

Glorfindel shrugged, unwilling to let darkness further encroach on his night. “Yes. But it is past. I am here now, though considerably poorer than I was a few hours ago. Your luck has been quite good tonight.”

This brought a smile to Gildor’s face. “Yes, it has.” He crouched down on the rug, bracing himself on one hand, bringing their faces onto eye level. “But I am the kind of man who likes to push his luck.”

Glorfindel stayed still, not showing his surprise at their sudden closeness, though he felt a frisson of heat, not unlike earlier when he touched Gildor’s arm. “This is known about you, yes.”

“A trait you and I share, from time to time.” Gildor’s mouth shifted from a wide, self-assured smile to something smaller, more personal – a rare look for him. “I am not really here for the brandy, Glorfindel.”

“What are you here for then?” His face flushed; he blamed it on the brandy and the fire, which had started to burn properly and warm the room, and he realized he wanted to hear Gildor’s answer.

“Well, you were on my list. After Elrond’s brood, of course.”

It was not the right answer, offered in humor though it was. “Not interested in being a name marked off a list, Gildor,” he said, blunt but not unkind. “I am bored and restless, yes, but it is not how I do things. If that is all this is…”

“I am not marking you off a list. You know that was a joke,” Gildor knelt properly on the rug and reached for him, hand warm on his shoulder, his blue eyes focused intensely on Glorfindel’s. “I am interested in you, and I think you are interested in me too. I’ve seen how you look at me sometimes.”

At first Glorfindel opened his mouth to deny it, but he settled on a rueful grin instead. “You are a difficult person not to notice.”

“As are you,” Gildor said. “Even if your reputation precedes you these days.”

“You knew me before I became someone Lindir sings about occasionally.” Glorfindel leaned closer to him, smelled the spicy musk of his perfume – when did Gildor wear perfume, how did he not notice before? - and watched as Gildor adjusted to him in his personal space.

“Yes, I did. I even have a memory of you, before the sun and the moon. But that was a very long time ago, if I am honest, just a picture in my mind. We were so young then.” Gildor moved his hand, from shoulder to Glorfindel’s cheek, thumb brushing against his cheekbone.

“What is that mortal saying? ‘It was a lifetime ago?’” Glorfindel offered with a quiet laugh.

“Well, in your case…” Gildor returned, finally responding to some of Glorfindel’s admittedly dark humor. He reached round and grasped the end of his long braid, pulling it over Glorfindel’s shoulder. “I see you have a hair tie tonight.”

“Oh, I learn from previous mistakes.”

Gildor undid the tie and removed the plait carefully, running his fingers through golden hair until it was all loose and falling around Glorfindel’s shoulders and back. “No balrog to be found in this wintertime valley.”

“Just you, dressed like fire with a level of luck that must have been stolen from the gods.” Glorfindel followed the movement of his hands with interest. The fireplace was letting off more light and heat now. “I feel very safe.”

Gildor wrapped silken hair around the four fingers of his hand and tugged gently, an unspoken request. Glorfindel placed a hand on Gildor’s bicep, waiting for him to tense and then relax like before, but he never even flinched. Encouraged, he leaned in, bringing their heads closer and kissed Gildor.

Gildor tasted of the dwarf brandy and the tart the cooks had made from the winter apples. His mouth felt as good as it looked, and he kissed just as well as half of Imladris claimed he did. Glorfindel would have laughed, but he was too busy enjoying himself.

While the fire crackled and popped, they kept kissing and exploring each other. Glorfindel slipped his hands under Gildor’s tunic and stopped kissing him long enough to pull it up over his head. He tossed it over by one of the chairs and Gildor laughed. “Adding to the mess?”

“I know you don’t care,” Glorfindel retorted and reached for the hem of his own shirt to pull it up and off, but one of the metal toggles caught in his loose hair. He swore and Gildor laughed at him some more. Glorfindel knew he should mind, but the sound was nice and he could get used to it.

Warm fingers skimmed his bare lower stomach and then moved on to investigate the source of the tangle. Glorfindel moved the shirt enough to watch Gildor. It took some effort to unwind the hair from the toggle, due mostly to its length, but he was patient.

“I should cut it like yours, shouldn’t I?” He spoke of Gildor’s shoulder length hair, usually tied back at his nape. It was uncommon among elves, more likely to be seen in mannish crowds.

“I cut mine this length because it is convenient in my travels. You? This is part of your legend. I think Imladris would mourn if you cut it.” Gildor said matter of factly. “Don’t play with their hearts.”

“You are ridiculous.” Glorfindel rolled his eyes and took his shirt, tossing it over to join Gildor’s. “There are better uses for your mouth, surely?”

“I can think of a few.” Gildor reached for the waistband of Glorfindel’s leggings. “Lie back and prepare to be amazed.”

\----------------

Sometime later, they wound up in Glorfindel’s bed, hissing at the coldness of the sheets after the warmth of the rug in front of the fireplace. After the Ice, Glorfindel had a low tolerance for cold unless he had to and so kept his bed piled high with covers.

“It will warm up,” he said as he pulled the covers up round them.

“Uh huh, so will this.” Under the covers, Gildor reached and grasped him, semi hard and sensitive from earlier, hand now slick with cool oil, and Glorfindel swore at him in surprise. His insults turned into a groan after a particularly clever stroke of Gildor’s hand. “Careful now, leave my mother out of this.”

“Some warning…?” Glorfindel gasped and braced himself with a hand on Gildor’s shoulder. “You only favor the element of surprise when you are the one doing the surprising.”

“You do know me after all.” Gildor kissed down the side of Glorfindel’s neck, tasting the rapidly cooling sweat there. He slowed his movement. “I want you tonight, I think. Is that something you do?”

Glorfindel found it hard to think with Gildor’s mouth on him and his hand wrapped around his prick. “Sometimes?” he said, finally. “Not for a long time.”

Gildor leaned back to look at him, watching his face in the dim light. “I am flexible, if it is not to your taste. There are always other things.”

They were quiet together for a few heartbeats, while Glorfindel considered it. “No, it’s all right,” he said and smiled briefly. “Put it down to your luck tonight.”

“I can’t believe I have not used it all up by now,” Gildor murmured and drew Glorfindel closer. “You won’t have any regrets. Trust me.”

\-------------

The next morning, Glorfindel woke up and didn’t have any regrets. Or at least, concerning Gildor. He regretted getting out of bed and leaving the warm covers behind once the chilly air hit his naked body. The winter sun came in weakly through the window; it would only be strong in a few more hours and the fire had clearly died. He went in to use the small washroom off his bedroom to relieve himself and decided, since he was up, to wash his face and private bits and rinse his mouth of the sourness left over from the dwarf brandy and sleep.

Gildor was undeterred by his absence and still asleep in the bed when he returned. Glorfindel was amused to discover he did not seem to be a morning person. He stirred when Glorfindel slipped back under the covers and pressed up against the length of him.

“Good morning.”

Gildor didn’t respond, and for a moment Glorfindel thought that he was still asleep, but then he rolled his hips back against Glorfindel.

“Either we are having sex again or we are sleeping. Make up your mind. Quickly.” Gildor’s voice was sleep-rough and irritated.

Glorfindel used a hand on Gildor’s shoulder to turn him around so that they faced each other. Gildor opened his eyes, took one look at Glorfindel and then tried to roll back over. “Your face says talking. That’s not one of the options.”

“Too bad. Your luck only lasts so long,” Glorfindel said, amused. He was just as strong as Gildor and shifted the length of his body to keep Gildor in place. “Sometimes talking is a good thing?”

“There are better things. Sex, for example. Or sleep.” Gildor reached a hand down between them, but Glorfindel caught his wrists and drew them up over his head, pressing them firmly against the pillows. Gildor looked up at him and smiled with a hint of a challenge. “This could be fun.”

“You are impossible,” Glorfindel rolled his eyes. “You never died, and therefore you are, in fact, older than me. Talking is a reasonable thing to do the morning after.”

“You are taking advantage of the fact I didn’t get out of bed, gather my things and leave you before the sun rose.”

“It is warm in my bed and very cold outside of it,” Glorfindel pointed out, only a little smugly. “And you said I was not just a name on your list.”

“You’re not.” Gildor was remarkably self-possessed. Even though his current position was vulnerable, nothing in his body language showed it. He was as relaxed as if he were fully clothed and chatting with Elrond on one of his favorite topics. “But I will admit the situation is somewhat complicated as I’m not relinquishing my place as leader of the Wandering Company, and I cannot imagine that you plan to leave Imladris and your role as Captain any time soon. Spring will come.”

Glorfindel gave him a small nod. “Spring will come, yes. But in the meantime, there are the long dark nights.”

“We could keep each other company?” Gildor offered. He gestured briefly with his head to where Glorfindel held his wrists, and Glorfindel released them. Now free, Gildor slid his arms underneath blond hair and around Glorfindel’s neck. “While we wait for the sun.”

“I’m not opposed to that - if I’m the only company you’re keeping this winter.” Glorfindel looked down at him, watching for Gildor’s reaction.

“That depends…” Gildor said thoughtfully.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at him, but obligingly asked, “What does it depend on?”

“How much dwarf brandy you have?”

Glorfindel stared at him. “I changed my mind, I regret everything about this….”

Gildor laughed, drew him down for a kiss, proving that while Glorfindel was on the whole a truthful person, sometimes he lied.

~ Finis ~

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: the ever amazing Keiliss. Any errors are mine. She also gets credit for the title, which is perfect.


End file.
